


Eros and Psyche

by allislaughter



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Eldritch, M/M, Mythology References, POV Third Person, Pre-Canon, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allislaughter/pseuds/allislaughter
Summary: Deacon has some sort of guardian angel. Someone he's not allowed to see. Someone who if he ever does see, he knows he won't get to see again. The Psyche to this stranger's Eros.
Relationships: Deacon (Fallout)/Mysterious Stranger
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Eros and Psyche

At some point, this game of Eros and Psyche will have to end.

Small touches that he’s learned not to jump at when they happen unexpectedly during the day. A tap on the shoulder from thin air to remind him to stay alert when a sleepless night of insomnia comes crawling into his body to drag him to sleep. A brush on his arm when something’s trailing him and he needs to switch paths. A small peck of lips and the tickle of what suspects is a mustache from a face he doesn’t see in the rare moments of peace and solitude...

If anyone wonders how Deacon has survived so long, between the Railroad and all that he does, he could tell them he has a guardian angel in love with him keeping him safe when his own skills fail him.

Except that would be the truth, and Deacon makes a living selling lies for bridges.

But one day, the game will end. Deacon’s curiosity is too potent for him not to one day light a lantern and try to suss out his Eros. There were never any spoken promises not to look, but Deacon isn’t certain enough that he has permission to know who or what his guardian is.

It’s not that it’s unwelcome. The small touches that keep him alive. After all, who is he to say no thanks to a literal matter of life or death? It’s not that he never acknowledges them. A small nod of thanks when others are around to hear, a more daring address uttered seemingly apropos of nothing to someone stealthier than a Stealth Boy, a quickly scrawled encoded note or little trinket left as a gift that he knows are taken by whoever the mysterious stranger is.

The kisses only happen after a long,  _ long _ battle of overcoming the anxiety of being watched, leaving messages, and receiving some back. A conversation across months and years in increasingly complex code of their own invention that, without him even remembering when, turns into flirting and eventually nets Deacon a cryptid boyfriend.

Ironic, he thinks, having always thought  _ he’d _ be the cryptid boyfriend if he were to get with someone.

Even so, it’s an odd balance of exhilarating and the most terrifying position he could be in. It’s a risk that he knows could easily nosedive into hell, with no way of knowing how careful he needs to be.

But if he’s making deals with devils, or making love with gods, then it doesn’t matter how compromised he is, now does it? He’s screwed regardless, one way or another. The supernatural is something he could never understand, and that scares him more than the prospect that his Eros is a normal human being out to undermine him.

Well, almost.

He finally gets a voice to match the touches, a small whisper as someone holds him from behind with a location and a time of day to be there.

As soon as Deacon can make an excuse, he’s following the bait to what’s either a hot date or a fiery demise.

It’s dark inside the proverbial cave. Someone still doesn’t want to be seen.

“Olly olly oxen free,” Deacon calls. “Anyone home?”

_ Getting warmer, _ the voice from earlier answers. Deacon knows for sure, this is his “angel”.

He swallows and follows the voice in. “Did you clean up around here? Just for me? I’m flattered. Everything looks so clean in the dark.”

_ Says the man in sunglasses. _

“Well, you know me,” Deacon says. “We’ve been at this game for, what, a few years now? And I finally get a voice. What’s next? A body to look at?”

A chuckle.  _ It may not be what you’d like to see, Psyche. _

“Awww, I already know you have a mustache,” Deacon laughs. “How much worse could the rest be?”

He steps into a figure. The figure strokes his cheek, and he only barely flinches.

_ You’re a curious one. So afraid of me, and yet so willing to alone with me. _

Every ounce of paranoia in Deacon’s system is screaming at him. “Yeah,” he says, unable to think of anything else.

_ Do you trust me...? _

Deacon swallows. “Uh— Yeah, of course...”

_ Truthfully, now. _

“...No,” Deacon says. “But since when do I trust anyone?”

There’s silence. Long and cold, and Deacon shivers as a rough hand slips under his shirt to feel the scars on his back before pulling him close.

“Hey, now,” Deacon says, voice cracking a bit. “This is new.”

_ There will be someone soon. Someone you will trust. Someone who will bring a great change to the Commonwealth. _

“Oh...?” The hands on him pull his shirt off, exposing his skin to the cold, biting air.

_ The game will end then. _ The finality in the man’s tone makes Deacon stiffen.  _ You will know why, I’m certain. You will need to feign ignorance of ever knowing me. I will be moving on to my next tasks once this someone finishes their work. _

“...Huh,” Deacon says. “So, what, you’re assigned to be their guardian angel after me?”

Another chuckle.  _ I was never meant to be yours. But I had to wait, and you were merely the first one to acknowledge me, even despite your lingering fears. I like what little time we’ve had. It’s a refreshing change... _

Deacon hums. “Soooo, this little rendezvous...?”

_ Our last conversation... _ A small kiss, and then a gentle, inquisitive touch by something that does not feel like a human hand.  _ Shall we converse...? _

Deacon suddenly is thankful for never lighting the literal lantern. He does  _ not _ want to see what— Another brush, his cheeks heat, and he grins. “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays...? Alright then. Let’s have a talk.”

Sometime later, Deacon finds himself traveling with the Sole Survivor of Vault 111. Someone Deacon feels like could actually make a difference for the Commonwealth, helping the Railroad, helping synths, and helping to take down the Institute once and for all. Someone that, perhaps, Deacon could actually trust... if not for the sticky situation they’re in, fighting for their lives against ferals.

He hears a musical sting, hears gunfire, and looks up to see a man in a yellow hat and coat, and a mustache quirked up as he smiles.

He knows who this mysterious stranger is instantly.

In a blink of an eye, the man is gone, and all the remaining ferals are dead.

Deacon makes the wise choice not to say anything.

He’s finally seen his Eros... and the game is finally over.


End file.
